I checked microchips on ring-tailed lemurs, helped veterinary nurse Sarah Smith give a rare Addax antelope a pedicure and mucked out the vast dung pit, a steaming mass of manure that is proving there is money – good money – in muck.

Country gardeners can’t get enough of lion compost. It keeps the deer off their begonias.

Judging by the overpowering stench, little Sutton, all 28 stone of him, isn’t averse to the odd madras with his bananas.

“So,” I asked director of wildlife Bob Lawrence, a leading light at the park since 1973, as I gingerly approached Sutton’s three-and-a-half ton mum, Five, “which are the hardest animals to manage?”

“Probably the staff,” he said, deadpan.

And the visitors. Some take the biscuit. They then leave their vehicles and attempt to feed the biscuit to lions or tigers.

“See that big sign that says ‘Do not, under any circumstances, leave your vehicle,” said Bob, pointing to the large, colourful billboard at the lion enclosure.

“One chap left his vehicle to read it. Claimed he was short-sighted.”

Oriental tourists have also risked life and limb in the quest for a perfect picture.

Deathwish visitors only add to the daily headaches faced by Bob and his 70-strong team who have more than enough on their plate with 1,500 animals who crunch, munch or slurp their way through a £140,000 annual food bill.

Species such as the Philippine spotted deer, which teeters on the brink of extinction with only 300 left in the wild.

Bob has risked life and limb in the course of his work. He’s lived to tell the tale after a crabby lioness grabbed him by the throat.

“Her teeth actually touched my jugular – that’s how close it was,” he said. “I put my hand in her mouth and twisted her tongue to get her off.

“She was too old, really. I didn’t need medical treatment, luckily.”

Bob’s ability to subdue even the wildest creature has even earned police accolades.

Armed with his trusty tranquiliser, he’s the man they call on when dangerous dogs run amok.

“Last spring I was called to an incident involving 26 Rottweilers in Herefordshire,” he said. “That was messy, with armed officers and a police helicopter overhead. I got a commendation for it, though.”

The public who swarm over the safari park are oblivious to the key conservation work carried out at the venue. With poaching – a kilo of rhino horn can command 60,000 dollars on the black market – and habitat loss, the future looks very bleak for many signature species. Bob’s pessimism is well-founded.

“There are 500 lions left in West Africa, and you are looking at the possibility of India without tigers,” he says. “At the current rate of deforestation, there will be no forest in Madagascar. When that goes, what happens to the ring-tailed lemurs?

“Yet eco-tourism is so important to these countries.

“At least the United Nations now knows that a large percentage of money from poaching funds terrorism. For that reason alone, they want to do something about it.”

West Midland Safari Park’s breeding programmes ensure species on the brink of oblivion can be seen by future generations. Admittedly, not in their natural environment.

Pricked by the sobering thought, I gazed at the elephants for the last time – then at that steaming dung pit.

“A nightmare scenario, I know,” I pressed, “but when the elephants have diarrhoea what do you give them?”

“An awful lot of space,” grinned Bob.

West Midland Safari Park is opening late throughout August with last entry at 7pm and gates closing at 9pm. The park is on the A456 near Bewdley, Worcestershire, DY12 1LF. www.wmsp.co.uk